“Wait and see.”
“All right,” said Geoffrey, and, leaning back, he began to think of Rhoda, and of the news he had heard, wondering the while whether she would ever be brave enough to do him justice, and frankly own that she was wrong.
Then he thought of her being poor, and, looking at it in one light, he did not feel very sorry, though he felt a kind of pang to think that she would miss so many of the old refinements of life.
“Which—vide self—any one can very well do without,” he said, half aloud.
“What?” growled his guide.
“I was only muttering, Father Prawle. How much farther are we going?”
“Not far.”
The old man forced the boat along for quite another hundred yards, and then, taking hold of the painter, he leaped upon a rock and secured the rope.
“Jump out, and bring the lamp and the compass, my lad,” said the old fellow, in his rough, grim way; and on Geoffrey landing he said to the old man, sharply,—
“Is there ore in here?”